Peking Opera Maestro Whose Art Transcended Borders

Today, we’ll continue to talk about the life of Mei Lanfang whose global influence extends far beyond the realm of Peking Opera, leaving an indelible mark on the world stage and cementing his legacy as a cultural ambassador of unparalleled stature.

Transcript

Peking Opera Maestro Whose Art Transcended Borders

Today, we’ll continue to talk about the life of Mei Lanfang whose global influence extends far beyond the realm of Peking Opera, leaving an indelible mark on the world stage and cementing his legacy as a cultural ambassador of unparalleled stature.

Throughout the 20th century, the Chinese cultural trend can be summarized as “learning from the West while maintaining Eastern traditions.” The saying “the moon in the West is rounder than in China” reflects the cultural subconscious of many. 

During the New Culture Movement, many cultural figures aggressively criticized traditional Chinese opera, almost wishing to bury it entirely. However, it was Hu Shi, diplomat and scholar, and an important leader of Chinese thought who helped establish the vernacular as the official written language, who ultimately provided a reconciling perspective, likening Peking Opera to “a man’s breasts: though the form remains, the function is lost; it could be discarded but hasn’t been.”

In his essay On the Abandonment of Old Chinese Operas, Zhou Zuoren, essayist, critic, and literary scholar, criticized old operas for “containing elements of primitive religion,” mocking the traditional moral and superstitious beliefs. After the Japanese invasion of Beijing, Ma Lianliang, famed Peking opera singer, lamented, “After a lifetime of performing loyalty, filial piety, and righteousness, I couldn’t maintain my integrity.” He then went to the outskirts of Beijing to farm. Meanwhile, Zhou Zuoren collaborated with the Japanese invaders, demonstrating that understanding advanced culture doesn’t necessarily make one a progressive person.

In 1925, scholar Wen Yiduo, poet Xu Zhimo, and playwright Yu Shangyuan advocated for the “National Drama Movement,” hoping to integrate Western symbolism and expressionism, but their efforts were unsuccessful.

Regardless of whether they advocated for or opposed certain ideas, they all made a fatal mistake: they either didn’t or couldn’t practice what they preached. Empty talk leads to wasted effort in the end. By contrast, Mei Lanfang did quite well in this regard. He once tried to adapt Peking Opera to new things, but when attempts to perform modern plays in Peking Opera style were unsuccessful, he abandoned the endeavor.

In 1930, Mei Lanfang and others established the National Drama Propagation Institute, aiming to “change customs, explore artistic tools, promote culture, and assist in educational efforts.” For Mei Lanfang, Peking Opera had evolved from a profession into a calling. This transformation was greatly influenced by his trip to the United States.

Before his journey to the US, Mei Lanfang had performed at a Peking Opera gala hosted by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Beiyang Government for American diplomats when he was just 22 years old. Subsequently, one of the must-do activities for foreigners upon visiting Beijing was to “watch Mei’s opera,” alongside visiting the Great Wall.

Upon the recommendation of the American Minister to China, Paul Reinsch, and the efforts of Yenching University President John Leighton Stuart, Mei Lanfang packed his bags in preparation to travel to the United States. However, it was during this time that the US was hit by the largest economic crisis in its history.

In February 1930, Mei Lanfang’s opera troupe arrived in this unfamiliar country, which was as distant in history from Peking Opera as it was in geography.

On the evening of February 16, at 9 p.m., Mei Lanfang stepped onto the stage of the 49th Street Theatre on Broadway in New York. That night, New York remembered the name of this Chinese man. The next day, The New York Times commented: Mei Lanfang, dressed in magnificent opera attire, performed on stage like a beautiful and elegant Chinese antique vase or tapestry, making the audience feel as if they were in contact with a long-standing and mature cultural achievement.

The critic Robert Rietti remarked: “After seeing Mei Lanfang on stage for just three minutes, you will recognize him as one of the most outstanding actors you have ever seen. As an actor, singer, and dancer all in one, he integrates these elements so seamlessly that you can hardly distinguish any boundaries between these three arts; they are truly inseparable in Peking Opera. Watching him perform on stage, you feel as if you are transported into a realm of ancient myths, a realm of beauty, harmony, and eternity.”

Of course, cross-cultural exchanges are challenging, and language barriers as well as cultural differences constitute fatal obstacles to communication. In 1922, during his performance in Hong Kong, Mei Lanfang premiered The Goddess of Flowers. As he stepped onto the stage with a flower sickle in hand, the then Governor of Hong Kong, Sir Reginald Stubbs, asked the person next to him in surprise, “Does Mr. Mei also play golf?” This incident became a subject of much laughter.

Similarly, Mei Lanfang’s performance on Broadway in the US almost encountered a cold reception due to cultural differences. Before the performance, Mei Lanfang held a reception performance in Washington D.C., attended by over 500 people, many of whom were prominent figures. Mei performed Qingwen Tears the Fan, but the response was lukewarm. After the show, Professor Zhang Pengchun of Nankai University, who was lecturing in the US at the time, visited Mei Lanfang backstage. When asked about the performance, Zhang candidly said that Americans didn’t understand it; they didn’t know why the fan was torn or even what the Dragon Boat Festival was. 

At Mei Lanfang’s request, Zhang Pengchun consulted his brother, Zhang Boling, who was the president of Nankai University, and agreed to serve as the troupe’s director. They adjusted the repertoire, changing the premiere play from The Fen River Bay to The Story of a Shoe. This marked the first attempt at directorial control in Peking Opera, with significant effects at the time.

The whirlwind of Mei Lanfang swept across the US during his tour of nearly four months. On the sides of the performance stage hung a couplet that read: “With royal grace from all directions, bearing the dignity of five thousand years of cultural heritage. His melodious voice resonates through the ages, showcasing the brilliance of three generations of theatrical excellence. Across nine thousand miles, his artistry spreads, fostering cultural exchange through the harmony of music and tradition.” 

Mei Lanfang’s superb performances captivated America, leading Pomona College and the University of Southern California to confer upon him an honorary Doctor of Literature degree. However, there was also a regrettable oversight in accounting when tallying the costs before returning home, resulting in a loss of 80,000 yuan, about US$12,430. It could be seen as Mei Lanfang’s self-funded endeavor in cross-cultural communication. 

In contrast to his journey to the US, Mei Lanfang’s visit to the Soviet Union was notably more relaxed. This time, he didn’t need to raise funds himself; the Soviet government provided full support. In March 1934, Mei Lanfang received a letter from the renowned journalist Ge Gongzhen, who was visiting the Soviet Union at the time. The letter conveyed an invitation from the Soviet Foreign Cultural Association for Mei to perform in the USSR. Mei Lanfang accepted the invitation on one condition: that the journey would avoid territories occupied by Japan.

On February 21, 1935, the Soviet government dispatched the Northern Star special vessel to Shanghai to pick up Mei’s troupe. They arrived in Moscow on March 12, and the Mei troupe was warmly welcomed by all sectors of Soviet society. To welcome Mei Lanfang, the Soviet side specially organized a welcoming committee that included cultural luminaries such as Konstantin Stanislavski, the author of An Actor Prepares, which Hong Kong actor Stephen Chow is a big fan of… also Vsevolod Meyerhold, the proponent of biomechanics in theater, which was influenced by Peking Opera, and Sergei Eisenstein, the famous director who proposed montage theory.

Mei Lanfang’s performance took place in the Moscow Concert Hall, and afterward, playwright Meyerhold commented, “After seeing Mr. Mei’s gestures, I feel that some actors in the Soviet Union could do without their hands.” Among the audience was a name frequently mentioned by modern cultural figures: the renowned playwright Bertolt Brecht, who was exiled to the Soviet Union after being persecuted by Hitler. This master, known for his theory of alienation effect, excitedly pointed out that the ambiguous effect he had pursued for years had reached a highly artistic level in Mei’s performance. He believed that Chinese theater possessed qualities of impressionism and simulation, and that the freedom of stage space broke the “unities” of Western theater.

Brecht published The Alienation Effect in Chinese Acting the following year, which developed into the widely used “alienation effect” theory in modern Western discourse. However, when discussing Western artistic theory today, many overlook China’s influence on Western art. In essence, it’s like “holding a golden rice bowl while begging for food”! After the sixth performance, Eisenstein suggested filming a gunfight scene from the play Rainbow Gate. Before his death, Stanislavski, the renowned Soviet theater theorist, cautioned visiting directors, stating that Chinese drama is poetic and stylized realism. While these comments only touch on some aspects of Peking opera, the power of communication allows culture to transcend boundaries, fostering a broad symbiosis.

In the 1930s, Chinese theater experienced a golden age of dialogue with the world, gaining recognition and nourishment. Mei Lanfang endeavored to present Peking Opera to the world, akin to presenting Moutai liquor. When Mei Lanfang visited the Soviet Union, he brought a gift with a message he personally wrote in beautiful seal script: “Communication of Culture, Promotion of Diplomacy.” The former, an artist’s endeavor, largely succeeded in its purpose. The latter, a political matter, seemed less successful. 

In 1932, Mei Lanfang and his family moved to Shanghai. In 1938, after the Battle of Shanghai, the city fell to Japanese invaders. In April, Mei Lanfang led a troupe to perform in Hong Kong. After the performances, the troupe returned to the mainland, while Mei Lanfang and his family stayed in Hong Kong.

On December 7, 1941, Pearl Harbor was attacked, and shortly after, Hong Kong fell into the flames of war. The Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon became the headquarters of the Japanese military. General Sakai of the Japanese military repeatedly invited Mei Lanfang to perform, but Mei declined citing his beard and old age.

Mei Lanfang sensed the oncoming crisis and first sent his wife, Fu Zhifang, and young son back to Shanghai. Then, he entrusted two of his sons to friends to take them to safer areas. He himself returned to Shanghai under the pretext of seeking medical treatment.

In the autumn of 1942, Chu Minyi, minister of Foreign Affairs of the Wang Jingwei regime, suddenly requested Mei Lanfang to lead a troupe to perform in Nanjing, Changchun, and Tokyo to celebrate the “victory of the Greater East Asia War.” Mei Lanfang strongly declined, suggesting that as an expert in playing elderly roles, Chu could perform himself. Later, Japanese soldiers visited Mei’s home, expressing respect for his decision but suggesting he could make a radio statement promoting “Sino-Japanese friendship.” Helpless, Mei Lanfang resorted to a method suggested by his cousin Qin Shuren, pretending to be gravely ill by receiving a typhoid vaccination that induced a fever of 39 degrees Celsius. When the Japanese soldiers returned to find Mei Lanfang in a state of unconsciousness, they had no choice but to give up.

The war increasingly strained Mei Lanfang’s life. Under immense pressure, he sold his house in Beijing, his collection of antiques, and resorted to selling his paintings to support his family and theater troupe.

During the war, Mei Lanfang didn’t dismiss any member of his troupe. After the war, he wrote: “Over these long years, my heart was like still water, keeping my beard, gritting my teeth, living calmly and dully. After the victory, when I sang the first lyrics into the air, my joy was beyond description.” He said, “Normally, I had the right to sustain my life and develop my career according to my skills. But during the war, I didn’t have the right to lose the dignity of my nation. This is my simple belief, or you can say that it’s the minimum belief a citizen should have.”

Mei Lanfang’s last performance was on May 31, 1961 at the invitation of the Chinese Academy of Sciences where, in front of an audience of scientists, he performed Mu Guiying Takes Command. It was his most splendid performance in two years.

On July 30, Mei Lanfang suffered from acute coronary thrombosis and was hospitalized. About a week went by and finally on August 8, he passed away. He was accorded a state funeral, with flags at half-mast at Tiananmen Square and Xinhua Gate. Mei Lanfang was buried at the foot of Wanhuashan, but his legacy lives on.

Completed in 2008, the Mei Lanfang Grand Theater is located at the southeast corner of Guanyuan Bridge on the Second Ring Road in Beijing. It is a modern medium-sized theater that perfectly combines traditional and modern arts. The theater covers an area of 13,000 square meters and is divided into four floors. There are two theaters in total, with the main theater seating 993 people, and the smaller theater on the fourth floor seats 154 people. In the center of the lobby stands a bronze statue of Mei Lanfang, weighing 1.2 tons. 

There’s also a Mei Lanfang Memorial Hall located at No. 9 Huguosi Street in Xicheng District of Beijing. Originally part of the Prince Qing’s Mansion in the late Qing Dynasty, Mei Lanfang moved into this quiet and comfortable courtyard in 1951, and spent the last ten years of his life there. Later, in March 2013, the State Council declared the site a national key cultural relic protection unit, and it continues to attract Peking Opera fans from all over the world.

Well, that’s the end of our podcast. Our theme music is by the famous film score composer Roc Chen. We want to thank our writer Lü Weitao, translator Du Guodong, and copy editor Pu Ren. And thank you for listening. We hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, please tell a friend so they, too, can understand The Context.